


Blond on Blond, or Five Times Draco & Cormac Were Seen Snogging (& Doing Other Stuff)

by eevilalice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hprarefest, Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Manipulation, Rare Pairings, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Snark, Voyeurism, Workplace Sex, five things, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eevilalice/pseuds/eevilalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy and Cormac McLaggen, two of the Wizarding World’s largest egos, are having it off. And a whole bunch of people are about to find out, one by one and in pairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blond on Blond, or Five Times Draco & Cormac Were Seen Snogging (& Doing Other Stuff)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hprarefest 2013 and the prompt: _No one could ever have imagined that any room, no matter how large, could contain two such big egos. But here these two were, and not only were they in the same room together, they were snogging._ You'll see I loved the prompt so much it's included in the fic as dialogue. :)

_Monday, 10:17 a.m. Cormac McLaggen’s office, Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ministry of Magic._

 

“Where do you want to get lunch after this?” Ginny asked as she and Hermione hesitated at the currently unoccupied assistant’s desk outside Cormac McLaggen’s office.

 

“You mean if I’m still hungry after conversing with him?” Hermione gestured towards Cormac’s door, which was open a crack.

 

Ginny brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “You don’t have to converse with him. Stay out here while I go in. It should only take a moment.”

 

“It _should_.” Hermione glowered. “I’m not sure you realize you it, but I’m certain your team’s hazing you. Aren’t there administrative people who can get forms like these signed? Owls that could be sent, for Merlin’s sake?”

 

“Yes, I do realize, and yes there are. But my team asked me, and I’m not going to act like Cormac bloody McLaggen is as bad as having to wade through a pool of Bobotuber pus,” Ginny said lowly, smiling. “Which, yes, I had to do,” she added at Hermione’s arched eyebrow. “Now where is his no doubt long-suffering assistant?”

 

The two of them looked around as if perhaps they’d simply missed him or her.

 

“Well, we’re not waiting around here all day. I’m starved.” Ginny gripped the roll of parchment requiring Cormac’s signature in her hand and moved toward the door.

 

“You should knock,” Hermione stage-whispered, but Ginny had already pushed the door open and come up strangely short and still. Hermione stared at the back of her head, waiting for her friend to do more than just stand there, growing ever more confused about and interested in what she was seeing.

 

Hermione took a few steps forward. Then a few more. She peered through the gap between Ginny’s head and the doorframe and followed her gaze.

 

Cormac had someone backed up against his desk, and the two were snogging most furiously. From the sounds of things, it was a male someone. Someone, Hermione could see now that the two had changed their angle of attack, with blonde hair. Very distinctive, white-blonde hair.

 

Ginny suddenly backed up and into her, shutting the door quietly behind them with admirable composure. She grabbed Hermione by the arm, dragged her around the corner and into the ladies toilet. A young woman turned to them from the mirror with surprise, wand in hand, halfway through some sort of beauty ritual. Probably Cormac’s absentee assistant. 

 

“Sorry, we’re having an emergency,” Ginny nodded toward the door, and the woman reluctantly left. Ginny cast a locking charm, followed by a silencing spell. She whirled on Hermione.

 

And burst into laughter.

 

“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione wondered aloud. The shock of it stopped any and all further possible reactions: revulsion, hysteria, arousal, pity…

 

Ginny wrapped an arm around herself in an attempt to assuage the growing pain in her laughter-strained stomach. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and her freckled complexion had gone tomato red. 

 

While Hermione’s mind continued to balk at processing the images she’d just seen—Malfoy’s arms clutching at Cormac’s shoulders, Cormac’s hands gripping his waist, red mouths slanting against and bruising one another’s, glimpses of tongue—Ginny finally calmed down enough to speak.

 

“I never imagined that any room could be big enough to contain two such massive egos. Yet somehow, there they were. Snogging.” She shook her head. “I wonder what Mummy and Daddy Malfoy would say? Can’t marry and make an heir that way, can he?”

 

Hermione snapped out of the image loop playing in her head. “Lucky for them we know how to keep things to ourselves. No matter how…bizarre.”

 

“Do we?” Ginny grinned.

 

Hermione smacked her playfully in the arm. “Come off it, Gin.”

 

Ginny cast _Finite_ and shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to come back later. Lunch?”

 

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

 

“Admit it: you were a little turned on.”

 

Hermione glared, and Ginny winced as she laughed some more.

 

_Tuesday, 4:32 p.m. Draco Malfoy’s bedroom, Malfoy Manor._

 

Lucius Malfoy frowned down at the invitation on his desk. He thought he’d asked Draco to RSVP to this charity event with his regrets weeks ago, yet here it sat, and the event mere days away. 

 

He’d been letting Draco handle most of the family philanthropy since the war; people were not yet ready to trust Malfoy Senior, but it was vital they repair their reputation and standing in Wizarding society.

 

With a sigh, Lucius rose and took the card delicately between his index and middle fingers. He supposed he ought to take care of this himself; after all, a House Elf could not deliver the lifted chin and lowered gaze of disappointment he had mastered years ago.

 

“Mopsy!” he called. He had seen Draco earlier that afternoon at lunch but had no idea where in the Manor he might be. He wasn’t about to go searching the entire damned house and grounds.

 

“Yes, Master Malfoy?” The young, female servant poked her head in the room.

 

“Where is my son?”

 

Mopsy tentatively entered Lucius’s study and did a strange little curtsy he’d neither instructed her to do nor ever seen her perform before. He arched a brow.

 

“The young master is being in his bedroom, Sir,” she answered. She pulled at one large, pointed ear and rubbed one foot with the other. “Is that all Master is requiring, Sir?”

 

“Yes,” he responded, and as soon as the sibilant hissed from between his teeth, she disappeared. He wasn’t certain if she’d Apparated or simply moved with extreme haste. Shaking his head and frowning, he continued with his task, exiting his study, moving down the hall through a sitting room, then the main hall, up several sets of stairs, turning right to the East Wing where Draco’s room was located. 

 

As usual, the door was shut and no doubt locked. Draco had been lobbying his parents for the entire East Wing of late to which they’d responded affirmatively—with the caveat that the wing would be his as soon as he was wed.

 

Lucius didn’t bother testing the doorknob first and cast a silent _Alohamora_ , opening the door wide and entering as was his privilege as father and master of the Manor.

 

The curtains were drawn, darkening the room, and there was absolute silence. _Spelled_ silence. It therefore took him a moment to spot the figures on the bed. Or, more accurately, the single figure lying back on the bed while the other knelt before him, head of light hair bobbing, hand in his lap working assiduously in a most distinct fashion. 

 

Lucius’s blood froze. It prickled his skin and rendered his limbs deadweight. While he stood there, his eyes continued to adjust, and he could see the hair belonging to the kneeling, wanking figure was not a light enough shade of blonde to be Draco’s. For a scant few seconds he allowed himself the hope that perhaps the person lying on the bed was a stranger, some friend of Draco’s. That Draco was doing a favor or obtaining useful information for the purposes of future blackmail...

 

But no. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight streaked through between the curtains and painted the duvet brightly. The young man lying there unknowingly and uncaringly turned his face into it, eyes shut tight, pale eyelashes, sharp features, mouth open and crying out silently under the spell.

 

Lucius had no look of dismay strong enough for this, even if he could relax his features from their mask of horror.

 

He spun on his leaden heel and strode out, pulling the door to behind him.

 

Narcissa. Narcissa must be told.

 

After he gave Mopsy a sock.

 

_Friday, 9:44 p.m. Conservatory, Greengrass Estate._

 

“Hhhuuh! Ah! Ung...faster! C’mon, McLaggen.”

 

Panting: “Or maybe...I’ll stop...altogether. What did I tell you...about ordering me about, Mal—foy! Ah!”

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“Bastard.”

 

“As you like.”

 

Wet, smacking sounds. Flesh on flesh. Keening.

 

“As _you_ like.”

 

“Yes, yes, fuck, don’t stop.”

 

“Won’t. If you say please.”

 

Whine. “Wanker!”

 

Chuckle. “Exactly.”

 

From behind a wall of orchids, Daphne Greengrass gripped her wand, desperate to cast a cooling charm as the scene before her unfolded. She’d wandered away from the Wounded Magical Creature Sanctuary charity ball her family was hosting, overheated and bored with the usual crowd, only to stumble upon this little hothouse morsel of an encounter.

 

It looked like she’d not be cooling down anytime soon.

 

Draco shoved Cormac away and stumbled back in the process, nearly tripping over a vine from some exotic plant her mother was cultivating.

 

“See what you made me do? If I get one speck of dirt on these robes, I swear—”

 

Cormac simply stared, arms casually crossed over his chest, and smirked, waiting. Daphne had never before seen a match for Draco’s smirk. Her mouth parted in awe.

 

A beat.

 

The two men launched themselves at each other at the same moment, mashing mouths and crumpling their elegant dress robes. Draco reached down and shoved layers of fabric aside, exposing Cormac’s still-undone trousers and still-hard cock. He fisted it and wrapped his free arm around Cormac’s broad back, pressing closer.

 

Daphne was dying to keep watching, but she was fairly certain she was about to faint from the heat and the...heat.

 

Anyway, she had to find Astoria and tell her that Draco Malfoy wasn’t the bland, uptight ice prince she thought he was. 

 

_Saturday, 5:12 p.m. Quidditch stands, Holyhead Harpies Pitch. Holyhead Harpies vs. Puddlemere United._

 

_Intrepid reporter Lavender Brown will stop at nothing to get her scoop, including heading into what are sure to be the smelly bowels of the Holyhead Harpies’ changing rooms. Because when she and her dogged photographer, Parvati Patil, get a tip that a certain famous Harpies player and a certain delish Scotsman from Puddlemere United are having an affair, they know their beloved readers need_ the truth.

 

“Lav. Lav!”

 

Lavender banged her foot into the bench she was currently stepping over as she and Parvati descended the Quidditch stands post-game. “Ouch!”

 

Parvati rolled her eyes and took Lavender’s arm to keep her from falling. “Referring to yourself as ‘intrepid reporter’ in your head again? What moniker did I get?”

 

Lavender flushed and looked down as they cleared the last row of benches. “‘Dogged photographer.’”

 

Parvati’s lips quirked. “I am at that,” she said, lifting her camera in her hands. Her _Witch Weekly_ press pass glinted from where it hung at her waist. “Do you think we waited too long?” she asked, looking around the near-empty pitch and stands.

 

“Of course not. If you were having a juicy affair with Oliver Wood, wouldn’t you wait until the spectators were long gone to enjoy your rendezvous?” Lavender rifled through her bag for her notepad and Quick-Quotes Quill. They rounded the stands, heading back towards the building that housed the changing rooms for both the Harpies and the visiting team.

 

“I suppose so,” Parvati replied, dubious. “Look, I know this would be a big story for us, but I’ve got to tell you, Lav: this tip looks like utter shite to me. It makes no sense, given the parties involved, and it was a Ministry owl that delivered it. Not to mention, we’re friends with—”

 

Lavender stopped and sighed. “One: the Ministry owl just makes it seem more official, don’t you think? Who else do we know that works at the Ministry?”

 

“You really think Harry would expose his own—”

 

“And two: it’ll be a blind item. No harm, no foul. Problems solved.” 

 

“Then why am I even here?” Parvati asked, lifting her camera again.

 

“Because we’re partners! And who knows, maybe we’ll stumble on other interesting things you _can_ photograph. Now let’s go! We don’t want to miss anything.” Lavender turned back around, wavy blonde hair flouncing over her shoulder. Parvati grit her teeth and followed. She cast _Muffliato_ and Disillusionment charms on them both as a matter of habit, and Lavender looked back over her shoulder and flashed a devious smile. Parvati shook her head and followed her friend and partner. 

 

As they approached the back of the stands, Parvati caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She peered into the dusty shade to find the source of the movement and saw one figure holding another up against a support. Legs were wrapped around the standing figure’s waist. There was thrusting. Frantic, frenzied thrusting. 

 

Parvati yanked at Lavender’s sleeve and jerked her head in the direction of the copulating bodies. Lavender’s mouth dropped open, and she crouched to the ground, hurriedly creeping closer, notepad and Quill hovering at her shoulder. Parvati joined her and unconsciously gripped her camera.

 

She couldn’t believe the tipster was right.

 

Except neither person appeared to be wearing Quidditch gear. They might have changed, but the shoes of the person being held were distinctly masculine. And was that...blond hair? Parvati squinted.

 

Lavender smacked her in the arm to get her attention. “It’s not them,” she mouthed as if they’d be heard. “I think it’s Draco Malfoy and Cormac McLaggen!” she squeaked. She pointed at the camera. Parvati nodded, aimed, and clicked. There was a spell she could use to help with the light since now was not the time for flashbulbs, but she wasn’t sure how well these would turn out. She clicked away.

 

Face bright with glee, Lavender listened to the sound of her Quick-Quotes quill fly. _Dear readers, intrepid reporter Lavender Brown with her faithful photographer, Parvati Patil here. Wait until you see what we’ve got for you!_

 

_Sunday, 7:20 p.m. Potions classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 

“You’re paranoid,” Cormac murmured against Draco’s neck, giving a nip and soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. Draco gasped but followed up with an elbow jab to Cormac’s ribs. The two separated, Cormac backing up from where he’d been pressed against Draco’s back, Draco turning to face him, curling his hands around the edges of the desk he’d practically been bent over.

 

“I’m telling you, my parents know! My father won’t look me in the eye, and my mother keeps assuring me I can ‘tell her anything’ and she’ll still love me! She even said something about my father going through a similar ‘phase’ during school.” Draco made a face, thoughts of his father and sex together enough to dampen what remained of his arousal. 

 

“Yet nothing’s been done. And didn’t you say that Astoria bint has taken an interest in you? I’m sure that’ll be enough to keep your parents happy.” Cormac waved a dismissive hand that turned possessive as he reached for Draco’s belt.

 

Draco smacked him away, but Cormac only smirked and drew closer. “Are we playing Seeker and Snitch again? I thought you were the Seeker,” he growled before tackling Draco down onto the desk. Draco struggled a moment, thrashing and cursing, before his movements became purposeful, his words inarticulate. He knew Cormac liked it when he struggled, when he gave him the illusion of control. He met Cormac’s darkened eyes and bucked his hips, pleased with the groan it elicited. Really, Cormac was so _easy_. He’d never have made it in Slytherin.

 

*

 

Draco was too easy. All Cormac had to do was wrestle him into compliance, shut him up, shut him down with physicality. 

 

_And just in time, too,_ Cormac thought as he wrenched at Draco’s collar, glancing at the doorway he had conveniently left open a crack where Pansy Parkinson could be seen watching them, expression unreadable in the low light.

 

A hot spike of arousal went straight to Cormac’s groin, and he stiffened further, grinning against Draco’s now bare chest, happy his plan had worked. He sucked at a nipple, and Draco cried out. Pansy wouldn’t hear that; they’d Silenced the room, naturally—it had taken some distraction to keep Draco from noticing that Cormac had not, in fact, closed and locked the door—but she would see the way he threw his head back, mouth open. 

 

Just like Draco’s father had seen.

 

Cormac sat up and unbuckled his belt. Since he’d gone to all that trouble to tip off Lavender and Parvati for one of their blind items in _Witch Weekly_ —hot off the presses, just in time for the evening’s reunion festivities—he might as well give Pansy a show. He wasn’t sure who’d be showing up at the door tonight, though he figured someone would figure it out and want to verify for themselves, for whatever purposes: the blind item was titled “Blond on Blond,” not too difficult really. Furthermore, Cormac didn’t much care who showed.

 

As long as someone was watching.


End file.
